


For a Handful of Diamonds

by ellievolia



Category: Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Hulk saves the day, I tried to write plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-02
Updated: 2012-09-02
Packaged: 2017-11-13 10:03:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/502279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellievolia/pseuds/ellievolia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha and Bruce are sent on an undercover mission to keep the world from imploding, yet again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For a Handful of Diamonds

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for Avengers RBB, inspired by the most amazing art from everythingshiny. Check out the art and let her know how amazing it is here! http://everythingshiny.livejournal.com/269444.html
> 
> Beta'ed by my darling armillarysphere. Any mistakes and Britishism left in there is my mistake.

  


“I get why they asked you, since it’s _what you do_ , but I don’t see how asking me is a good idea,” Bruce says slowly, hands in the sink, soap bubbles to his elbows, soaking through his rolled-up long-sleeved shirt. Natasha sits on the kitchen counter, surrounded by a shiny new coffee maker and a drying rack, digging into her thigh a little. Her fingers are curled around the edge of the counter as she looks at Bruce.

“You know you have a dishwasher.”

“I like doing it by hand.”

She makes a little noise, her lips pursed as she crosses her legs, still looking at Bruce looking out the kitchen window. His floor of the Avengers Tower is high up enough that he can’t just Hulk out and walk out the front door, but it’s not high enough that he can’t Hulk out and jump out of a window. It’s never high enough to prevent that. 

“The op demands scientific knowledge. Bruce.”

“Let Tony do it, then.”

“His face is too recognizable and you know it.” She sighs lightly, because she knows he won’t back down, but she also knows they don’t have a choice in this matter. “Plus, he’d make too much trouble.”

Bruce gives her a look that is entirely unamused, but she can’t help smirking a little. “Natasha. _I’m not safe_. Not under these circumstances. I can’t prevent it; I can’t control it well enough. It’s like holding a grenade and playing with the pin. It’s like Russian Roulette.”

“I’ve never lost at Russian Roulette.”

She slides off the counter with feline grace, pets his arm lightly and he grunts, looking down as he rubs at his eyes with wet fingers, his glasses down on the counter. She wishes she could make it better for him, make it easier, simpler; she can’t. It’s a journey he has to take alone, but Natasha promises to be there for him on the other side, at least. 

;;

Natasha sits on her bed in the Stark Tower, papers and pictures littering the space around her, mission report and briefs and intel on the museum, the guests, the displayed art. She’s not one to go in unprepared, but for this one, she wants to take extra care, be sure she can control the situation, and spare Bruce the pain of a loss of control on their side. It’s only normal for her to have all the parameters, all the plans in her head, to know exactly what to do, where to go, when Bruce will have to be center-stage. These are just precautions. 

She can’t help but feel responsible. It’s not a new feeling but it’s not something she’s used to allowing herself to show – there aren’t that many people who can read her and read her well-hidden emotions, but Bruce had taken to it right away, maybe because she never felt the express need to hide herself from him as much as she hides herself from Fury or Stark. Bruce has never even been someone she thought of with his last name; from the very beginning, that little house on the outskirts of the city in India, the air smelling of spice and rain, he’d been able to read through her lies and deceptions just as easily as one would brush open a flimsy curtain. 

And yet she knew that things would be all right. And he made things okay for them, he saved Stark, he saved all of them, he showed up and he was there and afterwards he stayed, and now it was her chance to make things right with him, to help him out like he’d helped them all out. That’s the very least she could do. 

;;

The best advice Fury gave Natasha before the mission was _don’t let him Hulk out_ , which is to say, he didn’t give her any advice at all, because this is all that Bruce tries to do, every day, every _minute_ of every day. It’s not going to help in any way if she tries to keep him in check, if she tenses and focuses on him more than on the mission; she’s not naive enough not to realize she’ll spend a good while focusing on him anyway, but that’s part of who she is nowadays, a habit she’s not really willing to shake off. Just like she thinks about Clint on a regular basis, she’s now added Bruce to her roster, because in this team of theirs, he’s the odd one out, the one that doesn’t quite fit in his own skin, and even less in the team. Maybe it’s because Natasha knows exactly how that feels, maybe it’s because she’s put it past her so long ago, not really living in her own skin anymore but in whatever character she’s inventing herself to be, but she finds it easy to get why he’s so distant. 

So Fury’s advice is not something she needs to be told, because it already comes naturally to her anyway. 

Natasha pours herself into her dress for the museum gala, she lets the personality of the woman confident enough to know all eyes are going to turn on her when she walks in seep in through the cracks of her own sense of self, lets it make her whole as she pulls the zipper up her side, the dress molding itself over Natasha’s own curves. She looks at herself in the mirror, looks into her own eyes and sometimes, she barely recognizes who she is, who she is supposed to be; she looks like a Russian Empress, when she tilts her chin this way or that, and she looks like a nobody in a dress she can’t afford when she lowers her lashes just so and fills her eyes with tears. Being a born actress helps with owning the dress, owning the role, owning the mission she has to do. 

Hair and makeup she is so used to doing it barely takes her fifteen minutes, and she’s ready exactly on time, slipping her heels on and becoming Natalia all over again, chin tilted up, a secret smile on her lips. There is no secret, and maybe that’s the whole thing that holds her together. When she opens her door, Bruce is standing on the other side in a tuxedo, looking like he’s never been more uncomfortable, and that includes several times where he ended up naked in public. Natasha smiles, taking a step towards him. They’re about the same height. 

“You have to own it, Bruce.”

“Easy for you to say, it’s like you were born to wear that dress.”

Natasha smiles, linking her arm with his, her hand resting lightly on his forearm. He keeps her close as they walk to the elevators. 

“It’s a wonder what a little tailoring can do.”

“No, no, that’s not just tailoring,” he replies, and then he pauses, like he’s hesitating, like whatever he wants to say, he’s not sure she’ll accept. “You look beautiful, Natasha.”

“It’s Natalia, for tonight. And thank you.”

This time there is nothing secret about her smile. It’s possible tonight is going to go down the drain really quickly, but maybe they’ll also manage to get through it, without the Hulk, without Natasha ripping her dress, and with their mission objectives fulfilled. Maybe; it’s another of these things Natasha isn’t really naive about.

Surely something will happen to her dress.

;;

Blending in is not something Natasha was ever really good at, but when circumstances are in her favor, she happily takes it, letting herself disappear in the middle of a crowd, making her life so much easier. Subterfuges are too often necessary, but surprisingly, right here and now, in her too-expensive dress and heavy make-up, with Bruce on her arm, she should feel exceptionally out of place, and she fits right in. 

The museum is all decked out, from the sparkling crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling to the shiny chrome topped bar, the waiters and waitresses wearing tuxedos themselves as they weave their way around the guests, offering Champagne and finger food. The marble floor is gleaming as they walk and Natasha keeps on expecting for it to squeak under Bruce’s shoes, but the noise would be covered by the constant hum of conversation, all of it poised and polite. Natasha can’t help the sounds she lets out as they walk in. 

“What?” Bruce asks, his eyes on the side of her face as she smiles, looking straight ahead to try and find their villain of the day. 

“Remember when you said Tony should do it? Look at that crowd.”

She listens to Bruce chuckle softly. “I can imagine the pearls being clutched.”

“I admit it would probably have been interesting, but you’re definitely a better fit for this crowd, Bruce.”

He hangs his head for a moment, smiling. “Not sure if that’s a compliment.”

Natasha pats his hand lightly, her eyes on their man; _Professor_ Hirland is on the other side of the ballroom, observing a Modigliani while sipping Champagne, looking every bit the sleek smarmy bastard he probably is. It reminds her of the video surveillance of Loki in Germany, years ago, and an uneasy feeling sets in her stomach at the memory. Everything could go wrong so quickly, just like it did back then, with Clint and Professor Selvig, with Bruce hulking out in the Helicarrier, with everything becoming such a mess so fast, with the world in the balance. There is no way she is letting that happen this time, even if this villain is small work compared to Loki, according to intel – she is not taking any chances, with this bad guy, or with Bruce. She owes him that much. She owes him more, but she has no idea how to even get there, to even make Bruce understand that he practically _saved the world_ , even if Clint keeps on saying Natasha did, even if Steve keeps on saying it was Tony. 

…Yeah. That might be why Fury calls it a team effort. 

“Believe me, it is a compliment, Bruce.”

He smiles at her, in a way that feels secret and that reminds Natasha of people past, of the smell of spice in the air and dirt in her hair, memories he would probably recognize – he must have a collection of them himself, but they’re probably not as enjoyable as hers. They both were on the run, but she turned it into as much of a vacation as she could before she went back to this life she knew she couldn’t quit, when Bruce tried to escape it all. She can still remember the way he said he tried to kill himself, like it was yesterday even if it was years ago, and she couldn’t forget the anguish, the fear she could hear in his voice then, could still hear now when she thought of it. 

This is why she tries not to think about it much. There are parts of Bruce Banner’s life that are still completely off-limits for any of the Avengers, she and Tony included, and they are the two closest to Bruce, having wormed into his life in different ways and into different parts. It was like a family, a spider web of connections with one another that couldn’t be broken; Loki tried back at the start and failed, and now it was stronger than ever, despite the fights and the indecisions and the misunderstandings. But it doesn’t mean total and complete access to one another’s secrets – Natasha would know, considering the number of them she keeps close to her chest, that not even Clint knows about. 

She’s pretty sure she wouldn’t deal very well with the way Bruce would look at her if he knew everything there was to know about her. She doesn’t care much about what people think about her, that they’re intrigued, curious, disgusted, she doesn’t care, none of them really know who she is or what she does and why she does it. It’s only a handful of people; Clint is one of them, Fury another. And now Bruce, too. Because he’s never judged her and he always apologized and after a year or so, he started being there, for little, mundane things like cooking an Indian meal or watching a movie nobody else wanted to watch with her, and he’d wormed his way into her life the way she did into his. 

“I can see Hirland,” Bruce says in a low voice, close to her ear. His breath brushes against her skin, making its way down her spine in a way she can’t help but find delicious. She still finds the fact that he refuses to call the man by his title quite funny. 

“So can I. Let’s get to work.”

;;

Natasha smacks her lips together as she reapplies her lipstick, her compact mirror angled so that she can see Professor Hirland in it, standing there discussing with an elderly couple, looking for all he’s worth like a perfectly respectable high-society gentleman. Bruce is at the bar, getting himself and Natasha drinks, but they’ve spent their first hour at the museum mingling and talking about charity events they’d never heard of before like they’d been at all of them, and chatting mindlessly about pieces of art they pretended they were interested in purchasing. 

Natasha cannot help but be impressed with how calm Bruce has been acting, completely laid-back and happy to be showing her off, taking the role of her new husband completely in his stride, like he really didn’t want anything better with his life. Admittedly, it’s a nice feeling for Natasha. 

Her eyes meet Hirland’s from over her compact as she clicks it closed, and she smiles secretly, moving closer to stand in front of a contemporary art painting, just a few feet away from Hirland and the couple he’s talking to; he excuses himself quickly, though, which is something Natasha anticipated, because men are so damned predictable sometimes it is really quite sad. He comes to stand next to her, holding his glass of Champagne to his chin, managing to pretend he’s actually enthralled by the painting in front of them, which is unimpressive at best. 

“What do you think?” he asks, taking a sip of his drink.

“I think it’s obvious the artist was in a lot of pain, and also he was probably completely off his rocker,” she replies, tilting her head as she looks at the brown and red mess of a painting in front of them, looking more like dirt and blood smeared over a blank canvas than anything noteworthy. She’d have preferred a Dali exhibition, if only because she’s a purist in that way and sometimes contemporary art escapes her completely. 

Hirland chuckles darkly, a low sound that he probably thinks is seductive, and turns fully to Natasha. “Hi. I’m Professor James Hirland,” he says, extending a hand. 

Natasha takes it, putting less strength in her grip than she could. “Natalia Tanner.”

It was the only name Bruce would react to in a timely manner. Natasha makes sure she hesitates for just a second between her first and last name, a new bride unused to her new name, and Hirland smiles. He looks as creepy as his plans to overtake the world are.

Ten years ago, this mission would have been much simpler: take him out, by any means necessary. There would have been none of this heist element to it, but Natasha has to admit it gives the mission some flair. They are to bring him in alive, though, which to her is more of an inconvenience than anything else, but she’s too used to following orders to dispute them because of her own personal comfort. 

Right now, she’s just supposed to engage and play the innocent young bride whisked away by her rich and powerful husband, lull Hirland into a sense of false security. Kicking his ass into next Sunday will be even sweeter than usual. 

“So, what brings you here, Natalia?”

“Same thing everybody else is, no? The Jewel, of course,” Natasha replies easily, knowing how suspicions won’t turn towards someone who openly pays attention at first, because everyone likes a shady character so much better. The human mind works in amusing ways to Natasha, if only because she feels so disconnected from the way the rest of the world acts and feels most of the time.

“Ahhh, yes. The _piece de resistance_.”

“Indeed. Oh, Professor, let me introduce you to my husband, George Tanner,” Natasha says when Bruce finally joins them, the look on his face appropriately thunderous. What intrigues Natasha most of all is that she can’t say if it’s an act or not; Bruce is one of the only people in the world that can still hide themselves from her, that she can’t completely figure out from the get-go, from tell tale gestures and looks and words. It makes him more interesting than most, to her. 

Bruce and Hirland shake hands, grunt at each other a little, and it’s amusing to her how stupid it is. But after a minute of charged silence, she wraps her hand around Bruce’s arm and sends Hirland her best smoldering look.

“’m sorry, Professor, I just saw an old friend of ours, it would be really rude of us not to go say hello. If you’d excuse us,” Hirland knows she’s lying, because she barely looked away from him – on purpose – but he nods anyway, courteous. 

“Of course.”

“Pleasure to meet you.”

“And you, Natalia. Mr Tanner.”

Bruce nods, tugging Natasha away quickly, throwing glances back until they’re firmly out of earshot. “Christ, you’re good,” he says, a little breathless.

“I am? I mean, I know I am, but what brought this on?”

“He was completely under your spell. Whatever happens, he will never suspect you’re the one that threw a spanner in his plans.”

Natasha grins, leaning in to plant a kiss on Bruce’s cheek. “Thank you, darling.”

;;

The mission is a diamond. The Jewel, the largest diamond found in recent years, and its 560 carats, were currently exhibited at Forbes Galleries, and the gala Natasha and Bruce are now mingling in is held for the start of the exhibition. It would be something completely out of The Avengers’ scope, if US Intelligence hadn’t used the two years that faceting the diamond took to code National Security emergency codes and contingency plans _in_ the diamond. But US Intelligence did that, and Professor Hirland, who worked on the faceting, discovering their little scheme. 

And now they had a budding villain on their hands, planning to steal the diamond during the gala; in a way, Natasha can’t help but think it’s clever. Tonight is predicted to be the calmest night of the exhibit, and it is harder to infiltrate, so security is obvious and startlingly predictable. 

Of course, Hirland hadn’t counted on his assistant turning his back on him and alerting NYPD of Hirland’s plans, and for all of it to escalate to the Avengers, who had been enjoying almost three weeks of uninterrupted quiet. Natasha was an obvious choice, hardly ever on TV and able to blend in with grace and precision like none of the rest of them could. Clint offered himself to join her, but they needed the science, needed the knowledge to make sure the diamond was the right one, if Hirland changed his plans and decided to do an earlier swap. 

They needed someone who could measure and understand material density, and they didn’t have the time to train anyone. So there is Bruce, still looking uncomfortable in his suit as he walks with Natasha to a corner of the large ballroom in which drinks and canapés are being served before the guests are allowed inside the exhibit room. Natasha, sensing his stress, runs her hand down along his forearm and slots her fingers between Bruce’s, receiving his surprised glance with a smile as she pulls herself closer to him. 

“You’ll be okay.”

“I keep on wondering, if these people knew what – that the giant green monster they see on TV is inside me, what would they do? Run for the nearest exit?”

They stop and stand in front of a sculpture, and Natasha leans her head against Bruce’s, a show of intimacy that fits perfect in the role they’re playing, but makes her heat pick up a beat, because she’s not used to being this close to Bruce and she likes it; she knew she would, she’s known for a while that Bruce holds a special place inside her. Not unlike Clint, but not quite like him, either – her relationship with Clint has weathered too much for anything like this to still be on the cards. And Natasha doesn’t believe in love, but she believes in companionship, running deeper than friendship. She believes in comfort and sex and trust and respect. The closest thing to love, maybe, in a different form than the brotherly type of love she feels for Clint and Phil. 

“I’d stay,” she says simply, and Bruce looks at her, his eyes dark. She’s prepared for it when he leans in, but she still feels a jolt and has to smile as they kiss, keeping it mostly chaste, a warm, dry press of lips. Bruce pulls away first and brushes his thumb against her cheek; it’s unplanned but probably a long time coming, so there is no need for an apology or for confusion between the two of them. Natasha is thankful. 

“I know.”

;;

It all goes down way too quickly, a little dizzying when Natasha tries to think about it, set her head straight about the events of the night. The first hour of it goes by so slow, it’s strange that the second one rushes by; she guesses this must be what Clint feels like in so many missions. 

The plan is easy enough – Bruce goes in the exhibit first, alone, while Natasha creates a diversion. Once they know if the Jewel is the real deal, then it’s only a matter of keeping Hirland away from it, and getting him caught red-handed if possible, since Fury would like to ask him some questions. The priority is keeping the diamond where it is supposed to be. 

The diversion is simple, even if it hinders Natasha quite a lot. Her acting skills are so developed by now that when she fakes fainting, she goes down hard, without a sound, not even a gasp, and she doesn’t even try to cushion her fall at all, just goes with it, bangs her head on the floor and keeps her face blank at it, her closed eyes not even fluttering. There are some small cries, rushed footsteps; she can guess who’s coming closer and who’s shuffling away, can see the layout of the whole ballroom behind her eyelids, can guess who’s kneeling by her side by their voices. 

Hirland is not far, but not part of the commotion – she’s got a doctor by her side and a couple of ladies holding her hands, petting her hair like it’s going to help in any way. If this was in any way real, Natasha would want some air, some space to breathe, some time away from the harpies that like to pretend they care so much about the world and everybody in it. They all know they don’t, that it’s all an act to make them feel better about themselves, and what is Natasha supposed to say to that? We all have different paths to redemption. 

She takes her time getting back to consciousness, not even minding the taps on her cheeks, the loud calls of her name. It all gives her much more attention than she likes to get on the best of times but at least she knows Bruce has slipped away with no issue, since there are murmurs going through the room as people search for Natalia’s husband, who is nowhere to be seen. It’s only when he comes back into the room and Natasha hears the clamor, people bringing him to her that Natasha decides to blink her eyes open. Perfect dramatization of the situation. 

Bruce gathers her in his arms, presses his lips against her forehead, still mindful of her hair, which is amusing and delightful, all at once. “Oh, sweetheart, are you okay? I’m sorry; I only slipped out for a cigarette! Are you all right, what happened?”

She sits up, looking fuzzily around her, the crowd gathered around them like they are the attraction of the night. “I am so sorry! You know how I get when I don’t eat. I just feel lightheaded for a second and now this?”

Someone says something about taking her home, and Bruce nods in affirmation, but Natasha grabs his jacket sleeve, shaking her head vehemently. “No, I want to see the diamond! You know how excited I was for this; don’t make us leave just yet, George, please. _Please_ ,” she repeats, giving him her best doe-eyes, and Bruce sighs, bringing her close again, his lips against her forehead. 

“All right, all right. But let’s get you some food, first.”

Bruce helps her up, and just like that, plan well underway. 

;;

They’re not left alone in the kitchens per se, but the security guard with them is discreet and polite enough to leave them to their own devices; it’s nice, if not very efficient. Natasha gets the two tiny internal comms from the heel of her shoe and slips one to Bruce, fitting the other one in her ear. External comms with the Helicarrier would be pointless in the museum, which scrambles signals because of the auditorium. 

Bruce is busy putting together a sandwich, ham, cheese, some mayo and salad on brown bread, but he’s also talking, voice low, just a rumble of information that Natasha processes as quickly as she can while keeping an eye on the guard. 

“It is our diamond indeed; the density matched and the mass spectrum analysis got me the right materials, which wouldn’t be possible with a synthetic. The weight and size are easily reproduced, but anything else can be detected if you’ve got the right tools or the right eye.”

Natasha nods, leaning back against the kitchen island as Bruce cuts the sandwich into triangles. “So he hasn’t made his move yet, which gives him two options; come in first, or come in last, if he wants to avoid any kind of hostage situation, which I’m guessing he does, because he doesn’t have enough associates to take on 200 hostages, and he’s too recognizable. We’ll monitor his moves and I’ll take him on when he tries to do the swap,” Natasha says simply, like it hasn’t been the plan all along. Bruce frowns.

“What if he’s armed?”

Natasha tilts her head at him, grabbing one half of the sandwich and taking a bite over the kitchen island, mindful of mayo on her dress. “You think I’m ill-equipped?”

Sighing, Bruce looks down and away, his fingers playing with a bit of salad. Natasha can see the security guard shifting a little, as if uncomfortable, and having a witness to a fight will not help their cover. Natasha finishes the half of the sandwich she was eating, and then drops her hand on top of Bruce’s, leaving a smudge of mayo on the back of his hand when she strokes her index finger over his skin.

“Of course you’re not ill-equipped, Nat, that’s not...I just can’t help but think that if anything happens to you, I can’t be held responsible for what could happen to _everybody else_.”

Warmth spreads through Natasha at the words; it battles against the cold dread she always feels when the Hulk is mentioned, but the knowledge that her fate seems tied with his in this way is almost enough to eradicate the fear of the monster lurking inside Bruce. She wraps her hand around his wrist, pulls him an inch closer, and looks up at him from under her eyelashes, breathing against his parted lips. 

“I promise nothing will happen to me,” she whispers against his mouth, and Bruce lets out a shaky exhale as Natasha pulls away, smiling when she plants a quick kiss on Bruce’s cheek. 

“You trust me, don’t you?”

Bruce sighs again, and nods. “Yeah, I trust you.”

;;

Professor Hirland chooses to go in last, which isn’t surprising, but means that Natasha and Bruce spend three hours walking in and out of the room, pretending to be awed and trying not to wince when their comms give too much feedback. By the time the evening starts to dwindle out, Natasha is close to vibrating with unspent energy and building adrenaline, and she is relieved to see Hirland walk inside the exhibit room, leaving Bruce with a quick squeeze of his hand and following the professor inside the dimly lit room.

Besides the Jewel, there is nothing in the room, allowing it to throne dead in the center of it, spots focused on the diamond and its million of facets reflecting the light. It casts an eerie glow in the room, which Hirland completely ignores as he produces what looks like a cigarette case from his pocket. He leaves it on the floor by the Jewel stand, but the device doesn’t bleep, doesn’t move, doesn’t come to life like these things have in Natasha’s past, way too often. She eyes it warily anyway for a second longer before looking back up at Hirland, who is carefully disarming the glass case around the Jewel, making the most of the security being mostly off because of the exhibit. 

Natasha bides her time, counting slowly in her head as Hirland gets one panel off, and when his hand closes around the Jewel, she breathes out at Bruce, _he’s going for it_ , before the alarm starts blaring and the security door slams closed on the two of them with an ominous sound. 

Natasha smiles to herself in the semi-darkness, completely ignoring the alarm, pushing the sound to the back of her head. Still going exactly as planned, the security locked the two of them in; a double-edged kind of security, since it also blocked everyone outside from coming in until the nearest SWAT team was on site, which was exactly why Natasha was inside with Hirland – he wasn’t a regular thief and could have a plan B. 

_”Are you okay?”_ Natasha heard Bruce ask in her ear.

She couldn’t help her grin as she replied, voice loud and clear, making Hirland whip around to see her in the room with him, “am fine. Engaging mark now.”

;;

“I have a feeling you’re not exactly a helpless housewife like so many of these women out there, Mrs Tanner,” Professor Hirland says as he settles into the knowledge that Natasha is in the room with him. From what she can gather, they’re not about to start circling each other in some cliché fashion, but it’s a close one. 

“So what are you? CIA? FBI? Interpol?”

“Interpol, really? You’re not quite an international threat, Hirland,” Natasha replies easily, keeping his mind occupied as she makes an internal check of the couple of knives she’s managed to hide on herself, considering the security and the dress she’s wearing. One is a slim curved blade along the wiring of her bra, the other secured high up on her thigh. She probably won’t have to use them but they are an added comfort; Natasha has habits like everybody else. 

“Soon enough,” Hirland lets out, one of his feet bumping the metal case he’s left on the floor earlier, which starts whirring and bleeping, not loud enough to cover the alarm. A tripod sprouts out from underneath, raising the device to Hirland’s hip, and from her position Natasha can see the lens now protruding from the case, projecting a dire red dot right on Natasha’s stomach. 

“Whoever you are, you are not going to ruin years of planning. These codes are mine!”

And there was the crazed villain talk, complete with the bugged-out eyes and snarl. Natasha doesn’t even try to move yet, still considering the device, which is something she’s never seen – and she spends an awful lot of time with Tony Stark.

“People have seen your face, Hirland. You’ve been prancing around all evening; do you think you can get away with it?”

“With the Jewel, yes! I can destroy whole continents!”

It’s time to move; Hirland presses on the top of his device and its whirring sound gets louder, intensifying. Natasha throws herself into a somersault to the side but she feels the laser graze her anyway, a small yelp of pain leaving her mouth. 

_”Natasha? Natasha!”_ Bruce’s voice is faint in her ear, the burn in her side making her body throb. She ignores it and stands up again, determined not to look down. 

“I’m fine, Bruce,” she says between gritted teeth and sidesteps as the laser shoots towards her again, missing her by an inch. She’s used to stab wounds, even bullets, but this burn feels different, like it’s still spreading through her body, setting her insides on fire, and she knows Bruce can hear her raged breathing, which is not helping – he can’t get angry. “You need to stay calm, keep on doing your job, Bruce, get everybody out, I’ve got this handled.”

_”You don’t sound like you do!”_

Another shot of the laser gets her other side and Natasha stumbles, a step closer to Hirland. He grins at her, manic, and then turns his weapon to the North wall of the room, which Natasha knows is adjacent to a side street. The laser starts buzzing harder, louder, almost as loud as the alarm still blaring overhead, and the wall starts to crumble, plaster and marble and dust falling to the floor. 

Natasha grunts, one hand going for the knife strapped to her leg as she starts speaking in a low voice to Bruce. “He’s going to break through the North wall; you need to get a team there, if I can’t stop him. He surprised me – I don’t know what he hit me with, but I’m going to try and neutralize him now.”

_”Natasha, no, wait –“_

Natasha gets her comm unit out of her ear, throwing it to a corner of the room as anger starts bubbling in her gut. Just like Hirland said, she refuses to think she is hopeless and whatever amounts of pain she is right now, she has a mission to finish, a mark to stop. She is determined to see this to the end, and Bruce’s concern, however sweet, is only a distraction from her goal right now, one she can’t afford. 

With a growl, Natasha throws herself at Hirland.

;;

The whole fight is a blur to Natasha, with the intense pain on both her sides playing with her reflexes and the surprise discovery that Hirland has been trained in martial arts enough to be a challenge, she relies on her instincts and the sharpness of her knife through most of the scuffle, trying to knock out both Hirland and his device. Her dress keeps on getting in the way and she keeps on getting dizzy, but she keeps herself in check, standing and fighting as hard as she can, even with sluggish limbs and pain wracking her whole frame every time she lifts a leg for a kick. 

She doesn’t know how long they go on for, but she’s sure she managed to cut Hirland at least a couple of times, judging by the blood staining his shirt, and how he keeps on holding his upper arm when they’re not grappling at each other. With a bit more patience she’ll have him. 

She’s about to go in for another hit when the whole room shakes and the wall crumbles completely, exploding inwards in blocks of cinder and metal and Natasha jumps out of the way, landing on the floor with a groan as she shields her eyes from the dust. The growl that follows the wall exploding tells her just exactly how it wasn’t Hirland’s device finally getting through the wall, but Bruce, _Bruce_. She looks up, in time to see the Hulk crushing the Professor’s laser weapon between two fingers as he holds Hirland up by his head with his other hand, grunting right into his face before throwing him against a wall. 

There aren’t many things Natasha is afraid of, but the Hulk is high up on that list. Bruce, in that form, barely recognizes right from wrong, even less friend from foe, and he’d almost killed her once, just because she was around. She can’t help the way her heart rate picks up as she watches Bruce toss Hirland around, wondering if she’ll be next. She cowers to a corner of the room, watching the scene in front of her as her eyes swim with tears.

The quiet after the storm is the worst part. Natasha watches Bruce breathe out loudly, his enormous chest heaving as he pokes at Hirland’s now unconscious form with a toe. Then he turns to her, slowly, and Natasha forces herself to stand up, her legs shaking as she wonders if she’s looking at her death in the eyes. But Bruce huffs out a groan, takes a few shuffling steps towards her, and as Natasha holds her breath, he opens his big green palm up. After a moment, she does the same, seeing Bruce’s features so clearly there when she looks at his face, those big brown eyes not looking half as furious as before. She turns her eyes down to her hand when she feels him brush it, incredibly delicate for such a huge presence, and he drops the Jewel into her hand, taking a step back once he’s done. 

Natasha lets out a breath, her heart threatening to rip her in two, and then looks up. “Thanks, Bruce.”

;;

Natasha sits in bed, knees drawn up to her chest and her back against the wall. The book she’s pretending to read is not keeping her half as entertained as watching Bruce sleep is, but she still keeps it over her lap, thumbing the page she’s currently reading absent-mindedly. 

He’s been sleeping for about four hours, since they finished the mission and Fury shot him down with a Bruce-patented Hulk tranquilizer, and Natasha hasn’t left his side since. They’ve left her alone with him once he was human-sized again and in bed, comfortable; for her, slipping in with him had felt natural. 

She tugs at the SHIELD issued hoodie she’s wearing, curls her fingers in the sleeves as Bruce shifts in his sleep, slowly coming to, blinking his eyes open and squinting against the dim light. She watches as his eyes rest on the nightstand by her side, her gun resting next to the pot of tea she made herself earlier. He smiles. 

“Hey,” he croaks, voice rough. Natasha wants to run her fingers through his hair. 

“Hey, welcome back.”

“How long was I out?”

“Four hours or so.”

“Did we get him?”

“Yeah. Surprisingly enough you didn’t kill him. The diamond’s secure.”

“What about you? Are you okay?”

Natasha stretches, her eyes closing contently when Bruce hesitantly reaches out, fingers against her side. “Mmhmm. They patched me up in Medical. The burns will take a while to heal but they’ve got me on some nice pain meds.”

Bruce pulls away, looking down at his fingers, and Natasha can guess shame when she sees it. Right now it’s written all over his features, so Natasha shuffles closer, curling herself next to Bruce. He is very warm when he pulls her a little bit closer, his forearm resting on her hip. 

“Did I break the museum?”

“Only the North wall, which was being broken down by Hirland anyway. You saved me, Bruce.”

He makes an incredulous noise in the back of his throat, and Natasha looks up, bringing a hand up to his jaw. “You did. So thank you,” she whispers, words she’s not used to say. 

She leans closer, giving him room to pull back if he wants to; he doesn’t, instead moves towards her and the kiss this time is not for any audience. It’s a little uncoordinated and slightly more heated than their first one; it’s full of gratefulness and desire and comfort, and Natasha feels Bruce smile into it. When she pulls back, he moves to her chin, along her jaw, wet hot kisses that settle warmth low in her belly. 

Natasha hums, her fingers carding through Bruce’s hair. “By the way, I think the other guy likes me. He got me a diamond.”

;;

  



End file.
